5 July 2015. It’s the completion of yet another milestone – my first Full Marathon; 42.195km; Osim Sundown Marathon 2015.

Gun Time: 6:49:18 | Race time: 6:39:17

To some, it may have been their x number of times. To some, it may also have been their first. And to the seasoned ones, it probably would have been another training, a race to improve their personal bests, or to compete with other fellow athletes. Whatever the reason may be, the experience for me was a refreshing one, albeit nowhere near easy.

I think the race couldn’t have taken place more aptly at this point in time. A point in time, where in which recently I am filled with much uncertainty and yet another dose of douse in confidence. I had the time to indulge in my thoughts as I spent that 6.5 hours conquering that gruelling distance and also relate to what happened along the way. I truly thank God for the strength He has given me to keep on going, the will to keep on fighting, and His loving grace to lift me up through such a struggle.

The time I spent training for this race was also a struggle. But in no way, could those training experiences culminate to the experience of this one long journey (not the longest marathon, but for me, the longest I’ve ever ran.)

Exciting as it may be, awaiting to get flagged off. Mind’s ready. Body’s ready. 42.195km right? Easy peasy right? We can do it. You feel the excitement, the readiness, all geared up and ready to go. And then we’re off! Pacing oneself, not too fast, not too slow. Just at a comfortable pace, without tiring yourself.

And then to my unbelievable surprise, the route took a painstakingly steep uphill already at the initial kilometres. One that even machines with horsepower will indefinitely decelerate. Let alone human legs. I think, though, this was indicated on the running route given. I probably didn’t took notice of it and thus, my jaw-dropping and bulging eyes. Talk about surprises. This was one surprise I wasn’t prepared for. But I took it in, like all the rest did, and trudged on.

And soon after, hell began. Pardon my language here, but there’s no better way to put this. The next stretch of distance which amounts to about 20km is the bitch. It’s the part that never seems to end and you just gotta keep going and going and going. At least in this case, you know you’ll come to the point where that 20km will come to a close.

It’s only some time into that 20km, probably 2-3km in? That I already felt.. the temptation to stop running. That was only somewhat 7km or so. And damn, I thought to myself: Am I seriously even able to finish this? Doubts were already setting in. I had to satisfy my hunger. Downed 2 bananas at the next hydration station and only to realise I couldn’t run until they digested. So I took the next half an hour to sort out my thoughts, and kept walking, fast walk. Not brisk walk yet.

And when I got back on pace, it was already 3am in the morning. About 2 hours into the gun time. So the alternating paces began. Brisk Walk, Brisk Run, Brisk Walk, Brisk Run. 4km. And then, Fast Walk. 1km. Seemed to work out pretty well. And I kept going on. Then I hit my half-marathon distance. The lactic in the quads, in the shin, in my extensors. I started doing stretches just before the fast walks.

The lactic, though, wasn’t letting up. They built up, more and more, as I kept going on. And the journey, obviously, got tougher and tougher. I prayed. For strength. For Resilience. I wasn’t ready to give up. I wasn’t intending to. I would be lying, if I said that the thought of falling out and throwing in the towel altogether didn’t cross my mind.

Look around you. So many people fighting on. People even as old as 70+? 80+ probably? You can give all sort of excuses to stop. But they aren’t, are they? The crew are cheering on for you. Strangers, who aren’t even crew, supporting and cheering, providing coffee, chocolate milk, etc. What’s all these?

How can I fail with an army behind? It’s not a statement of expectation. It’s a declaration of the heartwarming support from the world. Faith. Hope. and Love.

For many bits during the run, the warmth of those thoughts damped my eyes.

I pressed on.

And on.

30km. I’m en-route. Time to plug in to rock to the beat of my running music. A surge of energy with the beats driving the mind. I was ready to conquer the last 12.195km.

But things seems to always fall short of the optimism. 33km. I was hit hard. The lactic is so saturated in my shin and quads. I can’t barely run. I was so ready to bring down the final 10km with ease. But as it turned out, this is probably the worst 10km I’ve ever done in my life.

I’m pushing to run. The legs cried the otherwise. They wanted to stop. So close. So close to the finish line. There was no way I was stopping. I kept walking. I would even crawl or roll to the finish line, if I had to (obviously, I didn’t. But I was prepared to.)

Rests and breaks became more inherent. Stretches relieved the lactic temporarily. But only enough to cover 1km or so.

And then, 2 more touching acts reached out to me. Muscle-tension relief spray at Marina Barrage from non-crew. 37km. And then slightly before 38km, a fellow runner offered me muscle rub, when I took to a seat along the route at Gardens by the Bay. Although I kinda declined the offer for the latter, I am thankful and grateful to both.

4km to go. Just gotta keep walking.

And what was surprising? I was actually still on target for my goal time.

By the time I reached the floating platform, I knew the end was near. Though not in sight as yet, it was less than a kilometres away. I was ready. Ready to unleash my rolling finish. I’ll never walk to cross the finish line.

Sun was up. I gathered some moments to take in the heat. Warm up the cold and exhausted body for one last, final burst. And off I went with small paces. 42km marked. 195 metres more. There it went, the final sprint. BOOMED!!